


As the Sun Sets

by StardustedOwl



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29143503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustedOwl/pseuds/StardustedOwl
Summary: Cyril knew Lysithea was dying. She told him she was living on borrowed time before they ran away together. But he didn't care.It took ten years.This is goodbye.
Relationships: Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	As the Sun Sets

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello. I had a dream, I cried about it, I tried to write it out. Let's all cry together.

A steady _thwack thwack thwack_ sound filled the still afternoon air, mixing in with the sounds of nature. The sun was on its slow decent to the horizon and just kissed the top branches of the poplar trees.

Cyril swung the axe down and with a _thwick_ the log split into pieces and fell to the ground. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he picked up the firewood and placed it against the side of the cottage, the pile having grown exponentially in the past week. It never hurt to be prepared, especially as the days grew short and the night air took on a chill. After stacking everything neatly Cyril headed inside, grabbing his axe on the way in. It was a simple axe. It was made to chop wood and hack at the wild bush around him, unlike the battle axes he used to swing not too long ago.

“Cyril?” A quiet voice called from the bed as he entered the cottage.

He turned towards it, his head cocked to the side as if to say _Yes?_ There Lysithea sat, journal sprawled across her lap and quill in hand as she slowly wrote her thoughts down. Her hair was braided to the side, her usual hair ornaments long untouched on her beside table. Looking up at the non-response, she smiled at him, making a small tutting noise under her breath.

“I want to spend tomorrow outside, will it be warm enough?” Her face was determined, and she more serious than she had been in months.

“I dunno…” He paused, considering what the weather might be like and Lysithea’s health. “I think it could be fine. Are ya sure that would be a good idea?”

She frowned back at him. “I’ll get out there myself if I have to.”

Cyril frowned right back at her, but he couldn’t keep the expression for long and broke into a smile. He went to her and kissed her forehead. “Anything for you.”

He meant it. Anything for her, he would do it. He had done it. And would do it again.

“I’ll put some tea on,” Cyril said, picking up a nearly full but cold cup of tea from her beside. In the small kitchen space he inhaled slowly and released a long breath. He would do anything for her. If he could stop death itself, he would, but death had other plans.

Stoking the small fire, Cyril looked into the bright red flames dancing in the stove. Ten years since the burning of the capital and the war. Ten years since those flames danced on top and throughout the houses and streets, stoked by the madness of Lady Rhea. It had been so long ago and yet every time he smelled smoke a spear of anxiety wrought through him.

After the fall of Fodlan and the rise of a new era at the behest of the Professor, Cyril silently had taken his leave with permission from Lady Rhea. It was a quick moment, one before the new dawn had truly started, but he wanted to fade into the shadows with her. He looked at Lysithea. Her eyes were closed as her head rested against the bedframe. Ten years since he had stolen Lysithea away to Almyra.

He placed the kettle onto the stove top and began to prepare a light supper. Cutting into a loaf of fresh bread, he added some of the simple fruits he had bought from the market the other day. Fruit was sweet and often tempted Lysithea into eating despite her lack of appetite as of late. Even then it was getting harder and harder to convince her to eat anything, even cake was often left untouched these days.

Cyril grabbed a small teacup from the shelf, one they had brought from Almyra. They had traveled for eight years, never really settling down and always moving from place to place to see as much of the world as they could. Lysithea had insisted on taking tokens of their travels wherever they would go much to his protesting. Now, he was happy to have those memories represented materially.

He grabbed the small plate of food and tea and placed it on the beside table gently like an offering, careful not to bump the inkwell and candle that resided there too. He went back into the kitchen for his own cup of tea – black, a travesty in Lysithea’s opinion – and soon settled in beside her on the bed.

“What’re you writing about?” He asked, glancing at her writing.

“The future,” she responded as she finished a sentence by dotting a period at the end.

“Oh?”

“My hope for the future,” she said, clarifying. “I wish for a long period of peace. One of advancement and technological prosperity. One of equity and justice. One that you will be safe in.” She said quietly. The next part _when I’m not here_ was left unsaid, though Cyril knew what she meant.

“I’ll always be safe with you Lysithea,” Cyril cut in quickly. As if denying the obvious reality would change it at all.

It wouldn’t. They both knew. She was in the twilight of her life and the darkness was settling in fast.

“Would you read to me?” Lysithea asked, closing her journal after making sure the ink had dried.

Cyril rolled off the bed to the burgeoning bookshelf they had. He had initially made a small one for the collection they gathered while traveling, but he had made several additions since as anytime they had gone to the market together Lysithea had found a new volume to add.

“Which one do ya want?” He asked, gesturing. They had finished a rather dry tome on the history of fishing villages of the east Faerghus last, and he was hoping for something a little lighter but didn’t want to choose.

“Can you read the one about the legends and myths of Almyra?” Journal and ink well safely capped, Lysithea had fully covered herself in their blankets.

Cyril’s eyebrows shot up. Lysithea was not one to choose fantasy over non-fiction, but he acquiesced and returned to the bed. Crawling in, he opened the book and began to read aloud in a clear and steady tone, “the First King was said to have stopped the gods themselves.”

As the candle burned down and the sounds of the crickets and nightlife grew Cyril read the legend of the First King of Almyra and his mighty deeds and fiercely devoted crew who shaped the country he had once called home. As the tale wore on he could hear Lysithea’s shallow breathing become steady as she fell asleep, the burden of her body temporarily removed from her consciousness.

He sighed deeply as he placed the book beside him and blew out the candle. Kissing her forehead he soon joined her in a deep slumber.

\--

A month later Lysithea’s health seemed to be getting worse. Cyril avoided thinking about it during the day by filling each waking moment with tasks and chores. Around their small cottage there was always something to mend or build or collect or create. In the evening quiet, though, the worry and fear of losing her always crept back in and gnawed at his mind. It was a worry that always existed from a time long before, from when the shadows of war were the biggest threat. Now, the threat of time grew more present.

For now he could only live for the next day.

Lysithea had convinced him that morning to help her outside and she sat outside in the sunlight, wrapped in a blanket despite the heat. She had convinced him to help her outside nearly every day this week, in fact. It seemed the sun helped her. He would check in periodically, but she always shooed him away.

He went about his day, clearing weeds from their small garden and watering the now late-season plants. The warmth from the sun soaking into his skin. The sound of the birds. It was peaceful. He turned to the large pile of laundry that now sat awaiting his attention. Filling a deep basin with water he began to scrub diligently at their bedding, removing any stains and spots to the best of his ability.

“Cyril?” She called for him, her voice ringing clear through the afternoon air.

“Yeah?” He was there in an instant.

She patted the chair, “come sit with me.”

“I was just washing the bedding-“ he began, not wanting to actually leave her but also not wanting to sleep in wet blankets.

“Please sit,” she said, gesturing again. “Let’s watch the sun set together.”

Cyril looked up to the sky. The sun was high and bright, hanging near its peak, not close to setting at all. He inhaled sharply.

“Sun’s not gonna set for another few hours,” he said, sitting beside her anyways, taking her hand. It was cool.

“No, it’s setting.” Lysithea looked at him and gave him a small smile. Her eyes were dark and distant and her skin paler than normal despite the near week of sunlight she had. 

“Lysithea, I,” Cyril began, a hard lump was forming in his throat that just wouldn’t disappear no matter how hard he tried to choke it down. She gently squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

He knew this day would come. After the war, the signs of her body breaking under the two crests it held was already apparent. She had been completely honest with him at the start. But he didn’t care. He vowed that every moment would count, and he hoped he could chase death away. He hoped that every new adventure they undertook would lead to an answer that would save her.

But they didn’t. He couldn’t. And now the sun was setting. It felt as if the world started to go quiet. Cyril couldn’t feel the breeze on his skin or hear the call of wildlife any more. The only thing he could hear was the shallow breath beside him. He knew this moment would come. He had planned for it, what to say to her and how to comfort her, and how to be at peace. His heart instead raced and his mind drew blank and the only thing he could do was desperately grasp the hand in his.

The world softened and the light of day was muted as his focus was purely on her. Memorizing her face, her smell, her voice, her being. The lump in his throat pushed against him, words trying to form and push their way through his mouth.

“I hope we see each other again, somewhere where we have all the time in the world. I know it’s a childish though, but I hope it happens.” Lysithea murmured, her grip starting to fail. What breath she had left used on precious words.

“I,” Cyril eyes welled up, as he swallowed trying to choke the emotion back. “I hope so too. I love you so much.”

And the sun set, forever.

\--

Rhea was unsurprised to see Cyril at her door. Drawing him into her chambers, she asked him to make himself at home while she put water on for tea.

She let him sit quietly as she spoke of the current state of the Monastery, and how the current government was ruling. She placed a cup of tea in front of him and sat down across from the young man she once gave shelter to.

“Where would you like to begin, Cyril? I have all the time in the world to listen.” Rhea asked as she drew a shall around her.

“I, I was wonderin’ if I could work for you again, Lady Rhea” Cyril started, his gaze far and grief apparent.

Rhea held up a hand, “First, just Rhea is fine. I think there are more important things to talk about. Tell me about your life.”

“Well, I guess I don’t know what you mean.” Cyril met her gaze finally.

“Your heart has a lot of sorrow in it. Maybe you can start with what brought you joy. She was a very important person to you, was she not?” Rhea said, watching as Cyril’s eyes became glassy. “Let us celebrate her memory.”

Cyril wiped his face on his sleeve as Rhea tutted – it was almost as if he was a child once more – and with a sharp inhale he began to tell her. Starting from the beginning when he learnt how to read.


End file.
